“ PLAYGIRL ”

Manawatu Times, Volume 64, Issue 96, 26 April 1939, Page 8

“ PLAYGIRL ”

♦ 4 ♦ By Julie Anne Moore : : ♦ Instalment 29. t )>tf , m , *

Synopsis of Preceding Instalments. Sandra Brooke, 21, and Stephen Eddy, reared together on Park Avenue, have always been expected to marry. Their fathers, the law firm of Eddy and Brooke*, take Anthony Ancell as a partner. He is in love with Sandra's mother, Enid. Sandra is furious when Ronny Mac Allister, popular radio announcer, won’t entertain her guests. They meet later, she drops her snobbery, likes Him and returns his kisses, but he turns on his heel when Bryant Wilson appears. She promises to marry Stephen. . Enid tells Sandra that if her husband, Chet, doesn’t a repay a loan to Ancell in six months Chet must give her a divorce. Sandra disappears, lives with Fannie Roberts and through Wilson gets a job as Sandra Marshall on The Flash, a tabloid. Wilson asks her to marry him. Matt Stanley assigns her to learn who is co-respondent in the Ancell divorce. Stephen goes cruising on the Fennimorc. Wilson's Water Bug is lost in a storm, but Stephen rescues Sandra when the Fenuimore sights the sinking craft. Ronny loses his voice, goes to help his mother publish the Maple Village (New Hampshire) Guardian and asks Lucille Baldwin, his high school sweetheart, to marry him. Sandra, just out of the hospital, is nursed by Lucille at Mrs. MacAllister's home. Sandra and Ronny confess their love. Lucille tells Ronny she became engaged to Tom Burton before Ronny's return. Jealous, Bandra goes home before learning of Lucille’s marriage to Torn. Martha Ancell invites Enid and Fanny to her home. She has Enid covered with a pistol as Sandra rings for admittance.

rise slowly, press against her throat for a moment and then creep down into the bosom of her frock. Anthony started across the room, halted. The hand had come up cli/tching the small weapon. ‘ 1 Martha,' ’ said Anthony, quietly, * 4 1 suggest you put that little gadget on the table. Unless, of course, you intend ( to use it —in which case, you might ask # | these ladies to leave.” A tight-lipped smile spread on Martha’s face. “You’ve never cared; for melodrama, have you, Anthony?” 1 Sandra’s eyes were fixed on Ancell’s face, the wet, curling lip, the utter absence of anything akin to fear iu his unblinking gaze. The man was no coward. Always she would remember Anthony Ancell as a hard, unprincipled and altogether repulsive person; but she would never forget that w r hen he faced certain death at the hands of the maniac who was his wife, he had faced it with dignity, calmly and unafraid. Suddenly Ancell’s eyes turned from Martha’s and he inclined his head ever! so little. “If you ladies will excuse me . . . ” he said, and turned and walk • cd toward the half-open library door. j 11 Anthony—come here . . .! ” Martha’s arm had come up to the level of her shoulder. The hand holding the pistol opened a little, closed with a finger on the trigger. Ancell moved on, erect, one hand in his coat pocket, the other at liis side. “I want to talk to you, Anthony. II you take another step—! ’ ’ Enid’s shrill scream cut across the little silence, but Anthony Ancell had taken the step that brought him to tho wide doorway and Enid’s cry was no more than a faint, muffled wail against the sharp crack of the gun. Sandra saw Ancell come to an abrupt stop, put a hand out against the doorjamb. Then he staggered forward and the next instant they heard the dull thud as his heavy, lifeless body struck the floor. There was no sound at all then, no sound and no perceptible movement in that great high-ceilinged room. Martha still stood with raised hand, her bulging eyes glued vun the empty doorway. Watching her, Sandra thought, “She’s going to kill us all—Enid . . . Fannie . . . me ...” And saw Martha walk 1 quickly to the library door, stand there for a moment. with slanted gaze—aud suddenly wheel, come back and take the telephone from the cabinet beneath the end table. She looked up. “Remember tho uumber of The Flash, Sandra?” Sandra heard Fannie’s sharply drawn breath, but her eyes held Martha’s penetrating stare. She said at last, “ It’s in the book, Martha.” “So it is. Thank you.” Still clutching the pistol in her right hand, Martha took the book from the cabinet, clumsily turned the pages with her left hand. Then, smiling, she dropped the telephone book on the table and jabbed at the dial.

All pretence had gone from Martha Ancell's eyes as she stood there watching the colour flow from Enid's face. She had swung around so that both Enid and Fannie Roberts came within her angle of vision, but with the muzzle of the pistol pointed directly at Enid. “Go back and sit down, Enid,’’ she said abruptly. Enid thought, * 4 She's completely mad. If I refuse, she will kill me. But she probably means to kill mo, anyway, so . . . ’’ But now the buzzing had becomo a continuous sound and Enid told herself it was Anthony and surely he would be able to do something with his wife. She returned to her chair. Martha said, evenly, ‘ ‘ Sit down, Miss Roberts.’’ For a fraction of a second Fannie's eyes challenged that command. Then, unhurried, slie sank into the chair again. After a moment’s silence, Martha said, “The private detectives' report I was about to offer for your inspection concerns Anthony's conduct over a period of months. You know, far better than I, that your names figure very prominently in that record, Yours, Miss Roberts, more prominently than any other.’’ Fannie caught her breath, audibly—seemed about to speak, but did not. ‘‘But Irving seen you, ’’ Martha's monotone went on, 44 I can understand why you should run after a man like Anthony. ’’ “I didn't run after him!’’ Fannie blurted out, reddening. “No? Then he ran after you. The fact remains, however, that you are the type who docs run after men, my dear. It's written all over you. ’’ Fannie thought, * l l knew he was married and I shouldn’t have gone out with him—but, so help me, if I can get out of this scrape and will have me, I'll never get in another one!” “What I can't understand,’’ Martha said, glaring at Enid, “is why you should have so little regard for your husband and your children. The fact that you spoiled the only real happiness I ever knew would mean nothing to you. But that you might spoil your own . . She lifted her shoulders in u mannish shrug. Enid looked at her, steadily. Should she try to tell Martha how utterly wrong she was? Lt seemed useless to argue w ith this woman whose very composure reflected a disordered mind . . . useless and perhaps dangerous. The buzzer was still going steadily. Martha put the pistol in the bosom oi her dress and walked off toward the entry hall. Voices came to Enid and Fannie— Martha’s, cold and challenging: “You. were not invited here and I must ask you to leave at once. ’' Both suddenly stiffened, sat forward in their chairs. Sandra's voice was saying, “I'll leave when Enid leaves, not before. Where is she? I’m not afraid of you, Martha.’’ Euid and Fannie started from the room, only to come to an abrupt halt in the hall doorway as Anthony Ancell'a puzzled voice said, ‘ 1 Sorry, am I interrupting something?’’ And after a breathless moment, “How do you do, Sandra. ’ ’ Martha said, harshly, “1 invited Enid here and this child insists on intruding. '' “That's absurd,’’ Anthony Ancell said. “ Why shouldn't she come here?' 1 Then, “Como along, Sandra. ’’ Ancell smiled at Enid, but the smile froze on his loose mouth when he recoguised Fannie Roberts. He looked from Fannie to Enid, was turning to demand an explanation of Martha when his wife's high, shrill laughter stabbed their ears. Suddenly Martha’s hard face was as immobile as a wax mask. “It’s just a quiet little party, Anthony,she said to her husband as she pushed past them into the big living room. “We were having such a pleasant time until Sandra interrupted.” Enid stood at Anthony Ancell’s side. She said, in what was hardly more than a w hisper, ‘ ‘ She lias a pistol, Anthony. Can’t you—” and saw Martha's hand

Nick Coleman, night editor- of Tho Flash, scowled at the mouthpiece of tho telephone. As the woman's voice died out, he said, “All right, that’s fine; but now wait a minute —who are you and where are you?” The women’s voice said, “ —l’m a maid in the Ancell home and I’m calling from there.” “O.K. Now you stand right where you are and I'll call you back No, I don't want you to give me the number. Just Jiang up and wait.” He caught up a 'phone book, thumbed the pages, dropped the book and grabbed for the 'phone again. Ten seconds later he w r as hearing the same female voice. He said, ‘ ‘ This is The Flash. Anything wrong there?” “Yes—l’ve just explained it all to you. Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Ancell are dead —murdered and—” Nick jammed the receiver ou the hook and sat there for a moment staring at Matt Stanley’s door at the far end of the room. Behind that door a hurriedly called directors’ meeting was in pro* gress. Nick didn’t know what it was all about, but lie knew it meant trouble of some kind—but what the heck! This was the hottest story of the year. Let Matt get sore. Matt* came to the door. Before Nici could speak, he said, * ‘ Got bad news for ; you, Nick.” “Hold on a minute,” Nick said, excited. ‘ 4 Anthony Ancell and his wife have been murdered. I just had a call from a maid at the house. They ’re both dead. ’ ’ Matt stared at him. “You checked! the call?” ‘ 1 Right. ’ ’ “Hmm!” Matt glanced over his shoulder at the curious smoke-veiled faces of the ten men at the table in his office. Then he looked at Nick and a slow smile spread on his lips. 4 4 Oke. I’ll take the assignment and you can rout out a couple of photographers. Get hold of the Ancell place and keep the line open. When I start talking 1 want, somebody pounding a mill. ’ ’ Matt faced the waiting directors once more. “Well, gentlemen, we're going to give you one number of The Flash you can keep for souvenirs. You don’t need me any longer, do you?” A tall, sleekly dressed man with greyiug hair at the head of the table, said, quietly, “Well, you see how it is, Matt. Under the circumstances, wo have no alternative —’ ’ “No argument,” Matt said, grinning, “It's your dough. Sorry I can’t stick around to say thanks and all that, but —* I’m handling one more story for this rag, so . . . Sandra opened the door. Her lace was white. Matt said, 4 4 What the—l So you beat me to it.” He would have passed by, but she blocked his way. “Listen, Matt, I—” She fumbled for words, said at last, “It’s no good asking you to be decent for once in your life, I suppose.” “It’s no good asking me to suppress a double murder on Fifth Avenue, if

that’s what you mean. Who gave ’em the works?” “She lied to you ou the ’phone. You were talking with Martha Ancell. She killed her husband—she isn’t dead. She’s in there now. ’ ’ “She’s in there—with a gat?” Sandra nodded. “Maybe I’d better stick around outside for a while. Auybody else here?” “Yes. My mother and—Fannie Roberts. See here, Matt, you’ve not to give Fannie a break,” she said quickly seeing his face darken. “Ancell made hef think—'' He nodded, impatiently. “1 know all about that.” And walked on down the entry hall to the living room doorway. Sandra, following, saw that Martha was no longer iu the room. “Enid —wfiere’s Martha?” Then she heard the library door close and, almost as a continuation of that sound, the muffled report of a pistol. She looked at Matt, saw his eyes fastened ou Fan nie. (To be Continued.)